


(i've found) what i have been waiting for

by shineyma



Series: faced with a choice [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, F/M, Season/Series 02, real shield is the worst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:15:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26563468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shineyma/pseuds/shineyma
Summary: The team's bad day might be getting worse.
Relationships: Jemma Simmons/Grant Ward
Series: faced with a choice [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1931932
Comments: 8
Kudos: 95





	(i've found) what i have been waiting for

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jdphoenix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdphoenix/gifts).



> This fic is a birthday gift for the wonderful, spectacular JD, who is my favoritest of favorites. Everyone send her lots of love and hugs and adoration - preferably in the form of comments on her fics, because comments are the best present. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, dearest!! <3 <3
> 
> It also serves as my week THIRTY NINE fic!! If you think you missed week thirty eight, that's because the muse was not cooperative last night. So week thirty eight was a little tumblr drabble and week thirty nine comes six days early. Yay?
> 
> For JD, I hope your day is as spectacular as you are! For the rest of you, thanks for reading and as always, please be gentle if you review! <3

Halfway to Grant’s office, Jemma’s progress is interrupted by a missile in the form of his son.

“Hi Jemma!” Gary darts in for a hard squeeze around her waist, so quick she has no time to even lift her arms to return it before he’s let go and backed away. He doesn’t go far, however; just far enough to present her with a (somewhat battered) handful of flowers. “I picked these for you!”

“Oh!” Pleased and surprised, she accepts them, admiring the bright wash of color. Anemone sylvestris, Geranium sanguineum, Galium odoratum, and Primula beesiana—a gorgeous bouquet. She doubts the landscapers will be happy, but for herself, she’s more than a little touched by the gesture. “Thank you, darling, they’re lovely.”

He beams at her proudly. “I chose them because they’re beautiful and so are you.”

It’s said so seriously, she doesn’t dare laugh at him, for fear of hurting his feelings. Still, it takes a long moment of biting the inside of her cheek before she feels she can safely respond.

“That’s very kind of you, Gary,” she says, and makes a show of lifting the flowers to smell them. As the name implies, the Galium odoratum is particularly fragrant. It’s lovely. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome!” he says brightly.

After nearly two years of daily interaction, it’s stopped taking Jemma aback just how much Gary looks like his father. But while it doesn’t surprise her, it _does_ provide the occasional helpful clue: in this case, because that’s precisely the smile Grant wears when he believes he’s gotten away with something.

But what about giving her flowers could—wait.

Jemma checks her watch. “Aren’t you supposed to be—”

“Okay, enjoy the flowers, see you later, bye Jemma!” Gary rushes out. He pairs the stream of words with another quick hug, and then he’s off, darting back down the corridor at such speed that his trainers squeal as he takes the corner.

“In your English lesson,” she finishes, uselessly, to the empty corridor. “Ah, well.”

It’s a daily struggle to keep him in his lessons for more than half an hour at a time, something Jemma blames on the choice to homeschool him. Surely an actual classroom environment, with classmates and a structured plan, would be more effective than private tutors too afraid of Grant to be strict with his son.

But Gary isn’t _her_ child and Grant is (reasonably) paranoid about kidnapping attempts. He won’t hear of sending Gary to an actual school.

Shaking her head, Jemma resumes her journey to Grant’s office. It’s a much longer trek than she’s used to; at Nemesis base, it was just a matter of a quick trip in the lift, but here at the manor, it’s a good fifteen minute walk. Utterly ridiculous, in her opinion—no house needs to be this large—but she’ll admit the décor makes up for it somewhat.

Case in point, Grant’s office. The centerpiece is a large, antique mahogany desk three times larger than the simple, practical desk in his Nemesis office. It’s a beautiful piece—but of course Grant doesn’t afford it any sort of respect. When Jemma walks in, he has his muddy boots propped up on top of it, completely disregarding the mess he’s making of the papers there as he talks on his mobile.

“—close,” he’s saying, “but don’t engage. Yeah. Keep me updated. Should I be jealous?”

The last is said to her and paired with a nod at her handful of flowers as he pockets his mobile.

“Hardly,” she says, setting the flowers gently on the edge of the desk. She’ll have to find some water for them soon. “They’re from Gary. He said he picked them because they’re beautiful and so am I.”

Grant laughs, letting his feet fall so he can sit up properly. “That’s my boy.”

“Yes, well, your boy skipped—or ran away from, I’m not certain—his English lesson to get me these flowers.”

Grant sighs, but his smile doesn’t fade at all.

“Yeah,” he says, “he comes by _that_ honestly, too. I skipped class all the time at his age.”

“And look at you now,” she says, feigning sweetness. “A terrorist and murderer.”

He pushes to his feet and rounds the desk to approach her. “I prefer to think of myself as a businessman.”

“A businessman who kills, tortures, kidnaps—”

Her recitation is interrupted by a solid arm around her waist, yanking her into an equally solid chest. Grant’s grin is wicked.

“Can’t kidnap the willing, sweetheart,” he says, and kisses her.

Jemma accepts it happily—she’s long past the point of feigning reluctance to accept his affections—but, not about to surrender the last word, counters with a breathless, “Your definition of willing could do with revision,” when they part.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says as though he’s heard it all before. Which, to be fair, he has. “Hair-splitting aside, this isn’t why I called you here.”

“Good,” she says, pushing away from him. “I’d be very annoyed if you’d interrupted my science just for a bit of snogging.”

It’s half true and half provocation (he’s a habit of getting delightfully intense when she speaks dismissively of their intimate moments), but if she had subconscious hopes of prompting another kiss, they’re quickly dashed. Far from pulling her back in, Grant retreats, returning to his desk to spin his laptop to face her.

“You’re gonna be annoyed anyway,” he says, leaning over to snag the wireless mouse. “If we’re talking about my past ‘crimes’—” he actually pauses to do air quotes, which brings an involuntary smile to Jemma’s face—“there’s a particularly relevant one you forgot to mention: betrayal.”

_That_ quashes her smile at once. “Have we been betrayed? _Again_?”

It was a betrayal that prompted their flight from Nemesis in the first place, and as nice (albeit ostentatious) as their current accommodations are, Jemma isn’t in a hurry to repeat the experience. She’s had quite enough of people threatening Gary to get at Grant. Or at all, frankly.

“No,” Grant says, “ _we_ haven’t.” He gives her a smug, sideways smile in lieu of commenting on her choice to lump herself in with him. “Coulson has.”

To punctuate that bit of alarming news, he hits play on a video he’s pulled up on his laptop, then steps back to give her room to view it.

It’s security footage from the Playground—several different camera angles spliced together to create something surprisingly cinematic. It would be impressive, were so many of the subjects not so dear to her.

The footage begins with an explosion in a remote corner of the base, opening a hole in the wall that countless armed agents flood through in pairs. By the time it ends (with May being shot—with an ICER, thank goodness—after ushering Coulson, Fitz, and Skye out a secret exit), Jemma is seeing red.

“Who did this?” she demands.

“My spies are still sorting out the details,” Grant says, leaning over his laptop again, “but you won’t be surprised to hear our old friend Bobbi Morse was involved.”

She scoffs, entirely reflexively. “Of bloody course she was.”

Bobbi Morse was an agent Coulson sent to watch Jemma’s back whilst she was undercover—quite unbeknownst to Jemma, as she never laid eyes on the woman. She was certainly nowhere to be found when Jemma was forced to break her cover to save Gary. As far as they’ve been able to ascertain, all Morse actually _did_ while undercover was give up a safehouse and, in the process, get poor Kara Palamas brainwashed.

Hardly a surprise she’d betray Coulson after betraying poor Kara. When Jemma next makes contact with the team, she’ll have quite a few _told you so_ s to say.

“Yeah,” Grant agrees. “Coulda seen that coming. But the ringleader seems to be this guy—Robert Gonzales.”

“I know that name,” she says, approaching the laptop. This time, Grant doesn’t move away; she leans into his side, resting her head against his shoulder as she studies the file he’s pulled up. “He was a Level Eight, wasn’t he?”

“He was,” Grant confirms. “Big deal back in the day. Hasn’t been seen since the uprising, though.”

“And his first move was to attack the Playground?” she asks, incredulous. As much as she loves her old team, she’s been forced to admit (after quite a bit of needling on Grant’s part) that they’re not terribly effective. Grant’s done more to hurt Hydra in the last two years than they have. “What was he hoping to accomplish with _that_?”

“Actually,” he says, “seems like his _first_ move was sending spies in to gain intel on Coulson. Judging by the reports I’m getting, I don’t think Gonzales is Hydra.”

Well, that makes even less sense. “I thought we were the only independent faction.”

“ _We_ are.” Grant pats her arm. “He’s not independent, either. My spies say he and his people are calling themselves _the real SHIELD_.”

“As opposed to Coulson’s SHIELD, which presumably they consider false?” she asks.

“Yep.”

Jemma turns it over in her mind for a few moments, but can’t make sense of it. Admittedly, the team hasn’t accomplished _much_ , but they _have_ countered a few Hydra plots here and there, and they’ve done quite a bit of clean-up in the wake of Grant’s destruction. Gonzales’ SHIELD, on the other hand, has been nowhere on the board these last two years.

Though it’s been some time since she truly considered herself an agent of SHIELD, she can’t help a certain level of offense. She knows Coulson has been working himself to the bone—Grant has tracked his various travels and even once, for her sake, thwarted an assassination plot against him—to gather funding and personnel.

And now here’s Gonzales, storming the Playground with enough personnel to empty the base’s extensive armory. Personnel that could easily have bolstered the Playground’s operations, turned against them instead as an invading force. It’s infuriating.

“Please tell me we’re going to do something about this,” she says.

“Of course,” Grant says, dropping a sweet kiss to her hair. “I’ve already got people working on finding Coulson, Skye, and Fitz. Once they do, I’ll go gather ‘em up and bring ‘em back here so we can work out a game plan.”

Jemma can’t quite pull her eyes away from the laptop and Gonzales’ picture to look at Grant—but then, she truly doesn’t need to. His smug smile is audible in his voice.

“It’ll be just like old times.”

xxx

In light of the dire circumstances, Phil’s admittedly been considering several increasingly distasteful options. Turning to Ward was even one of them.

But he’d thought of going to Ward from a position of strength, somehow—of figuring out some leverage to bring to bear against him before asking for his help. He was _not_ expecting Ward to show up with a cadre of Centipede thugs just in time to save them from a group of Gonzales’.

And he definitely wasn’t expecting Ward to step over a downed opponent, look Phil dead in the eye, extend a hand, and say, “Come with me if you want to live.”

It takes everything Phil’s got not to facepalm.

“Seriously?” Skye demands. She’s emotional enough that her voice cracks a little on it.

Ward smiles. “Seriously. There’s another team of them about a mile west and closing in fast. We’ll wanna clear out before they get here.”

“ _We_?” Fitz echoes.

“We,” Ward insists, and spreads his hands. “We’re here to rescue you!” He smiles brightly. “You can just call me the cavalry.”

Phil wants to hit him. He really, really wants to hit him.

But being the Director—if indeed he still is—means resisting those kinds of urges. Not only does he not hit Ward, he stops Skye from going for her gun. Thankfully, Hunter’s kind enough to do the same for Fitz, who’s out of Phil’s reach.

Still, just because he can’t hit Ward doesn’t mean he’s accepting a _rescue_ from the man at face value.

“What’s in it for you?” he asks. If it comes out with a fair bit of exasperation, well, it’s been a long week. And just looking at Ward’s face always brings all the disappointment rushing back.

“The satisfaction of doing a good deed isn’t enough?” Ward asks innocently.

“In a word? No.”

He laughs. “Yeah, you got me. Been wanting to talk with you for a while.” He jerks his head at the quinjet behind him. “But if you don’t mind, I’d like to have that talk in the air.”

Phil would love to refuse—to demand a full explanation before agreeing to go anywhere with him—but he just doesn’t have that luxury right now. Like it or not, Ward came here to rescue them (albeit definitely for his own purposes) and Gonzales’ people were aiming to kill.

He really doesn’t want any more SHIELD agents killed today—on _either_ side. Better to retreat than to stand here and wait for the second team. Assuming Ward’s telling the truth about that, which isn’t at all guaranteed.

There are no good options here. Phil takes a breath and makes a gamble.

“Okay,” he says. “Lead the way.”

Hunter’s “Really?” overlaps with Skye’s angry “Coulson!” and Fitz’s “Have you lost your bloody mind?”

Phil, having no good answers for them, ignores all three and falls into step behind Ward. Humbling him, they—grumbling and muttering amongst themselves—follow suit without further protest.

The faith his kids have in him will never stop overwhelming him. As ever, though, there’s no time to dwell on it.

“Back to home base,” Ward orders his pilot as they settle in. “Cloaked and shielded.” He smiles pleasantly at the rest of them. “No pun intended.”

The kids don’t take well to the little joke, but Phil chooses to ignore both it and their reactions and focus on more important matters.

“Okay,” he says, “we’re in the air. Let’s talk. Why the rescue?”

“Why not?” Ward asks, opening his hands. “Is the enemy of my enemy not my friend?”

“Not sure it works that way with you,” Phil says before anyone else can respond. Skye’s wearing her sarcastic comment face, and the last thing they need right now is that kind of escalation.

Which isn’t to say Phil’s response isn’t its own kind of escalation. The grunt next to Ward is visibly bristling—at least until Ward pats his shoulder, at which point he immediately goes blank.

“It’s okay,” Ward says. “I understand your skepticism. After all, I’ve done a lot to hurt Hydra in the last few years—taken down six separate branches, as a matter of fact—while the outside observer might question that you’re still against the bastards at all. Maybe you don’t count Hydra among your enemies these days?”

To Phil’s shame, Ward’s not wrong. No doubt driven by fury over his son’s kidnapping, Centipede has been miles more effective against Hydra than SHIELD has since—well, since the forties, really. They’ve been playing catch-up since the uprising, and they still haven’t gotten there.

No thanks to Robert’s so-called ‘real SHIELD,’ he thinks. Phil’s willing to make peace, if such a thing is possible, but it’s probably always gonna burn that he’s spent years scraping for resources while Robert and Anne sat comfortably spying on him from a freaking _aircraft carrier_.

Still, there are bigger problems at hand. Like the fact that Ward’s little dig is officially the last straw for the kids.

“You _kidnapped Simmons_ ,” Fitz bites out.

“Rescued,” Ward corrects at once. “I _rescued_ her, after _Coulson_ let her get way the hell over her head on an undercover mission.”

“The hell you did,” Skye snaps. “She got away fine! She could’ve come right back to the Playground, but you, again, freaking _kidnapped her_.”

“She saved my son’s life,” Ward says, full of wounded innocence. “Was I supposed to leave her to wander the city, alone, while Hydra was on the warpath?”

“You were supposed to bring her back to us, you—”

“Okay,” Phil interrupts before that can get any further. Not that he in any way disagrees with Fitz and Skye, but Ward obviously isn’t about to admit that he was wrong to kidnap Simmons, and the longer he insists on his innocence, the angrier the kids are gonna get. Even Hunter, who’s never even met Simmons, is looking ready to fight. “Let’s get back to the point.”

“Actually, rudeness aside,” Ward says, aiming a chiding little frown at Fitz and Skye—Hunter wisely slips Skye’s ICER out of its holster—“Jemma kind of _was_ the point. See, Director Coulson, I’ve been meaning to find the time to talk to you.”

“Really.” Phil doesn’t know where this is going, but he already doesn’t like it. Something about the open expression on Ward’s face, paired with the totally respectful _Director Coulson_ … “What about?”

“I want to ask your blessing.”

The sinking feeling in Phil’s gut wars against a stubborn kind of disbelief. That can _not_ mean what he thinks it means. “My…blessing?”

“Yeah.” Ward leans forward, full of exaggerated earnesty. “I’ve been thinking of asking Jemma to marry me.”

Perhaps predictably, Hunter and Fitz go for the latter’s gun at the same moment—Hunter to get it away from Fitz, Fitz to (as he rather hysterically threatens) shoot Ward in the face. Needless to say, the situation deteriorates from there.

xxx

Things have simmered down by the time they reach home base. It’s not entirely calm—Fitz and Skye are still tossing occasional hateful looks and/or words Grant’s way—but no one’s threatening any violence and Ortilla has finally sat back down. Getting him to do that was such a fight, Grant hasn’t bothered to address the fact his gun is still unholstered and resting prominently in his lap.

(All of Grant’s people are so protective since the assassination attempt. It’s cute.)

At the very least, the situation’s improved enough that Grant’s guests are free to gape as the quinjet does a fly-over of the mansion.

“ _This_ is your home base?” Fitz asks, open-mouthed.

“Where did you get a freaking manor estate?” Skye demands.

“It’s a new—and temporary—arrangement,” Grant tells them. “The old base was unfortunately destroyed a few months ago. Dying throes of a Hydra branch that hadn’t accepted I’d crushed them yet.”

Skye rolls her eyes. Coulson looks quietly conflicted, as he has for most of the flight. (It must just be _burning_ at him, how much more good than him Grant’s done since the uprising.)

“As for where I got it,” he continues, “you’ve heard of Gideon Malick?”

“The famous philanthropist?” Fitz asks, face twisting in disgust. “Really?”

“Famous philanthropist, secret head of Hydra,” Grant informs him. “An old-school branch, too—crazy cult stuff you wouldn’t believe.” He spreads his hands. “He destroyed my base; I figured it was only fair he provide the replacement.”

“And do we want to know what happened to Mr. Malick?” Coulson asks.

Probably not. “Let’s just say his particular branch of Hydra has been effectively pruned.”

Ortilla snickers a little, which surely doesn’t comfort anyone, but the quinjet’s descent prevents any further questioning.

The mansion obviously doesn’t have a hangar, so they’ve made a sort of makeshift air field near the back of the house. Finding Jemma there waiting for them isn’t a surprise; Gary, on the other hand, is—and not one Grant’s thrilled about. He doesn’t particularly want SHIELD any closer to his son than he does Hydra.

Still, Gary’s hanging well back, perched on a couple of crates with Markham standing beside him, so Grant lets his presence pass without comment. Jemma’s the star of the show, anyway, being buried under hugs by Fitz and Skye and even Coulson. Touching, truly, and a much nicer greeting than the one Grant got. Might annoy him if he didn’t know—

“Simmons, _tell me_ you are not _dating Ward_.”

—that the moment’d be ruined soon enough. He knew he could count on Skye. (Fitz is still clinging like his life depends on it, poor guy.)

Jemma throws an annoyed look Grant’s way—rude—but, to his satisfaction, doesn’t try any dissembling. “I am, I’m afraid.”

“But—but— _why_?” Skye grips Jemma’s shoulders. “Simmons, he _kidnapped you_.”

“He did,” Jemma acknowledges. “At first. And you can be certain I made him pay for it.”

Not untrue. She was adorably violent, those first few weeks.

“However,” she continues, “the truth is…I haven’t been a prisoner in ages. I didn’t join him willingly, but I did eventually choose to stay.”

Fitz finally lets go of her and steps back to join Skye in frowning judgmentally at Jemma.

“Brainwashed,” he says. “You’re brainwashed, aren’t you?”

“Gotta be,” Skye agrees at once.

Jemma sighs. “I am _not_ brainwashed.” She frowns. “Haven’t you been getting my emails?”

“Emails can be faked,” Skye says, “and also they were full of _crazy talk_ about _Ward not being so bad_.”

Awwwww. That’s sweet. Grant thinks of saying as much, but—in light of his son’s presence—opts not to escalate the situation.

“He really isn’t,” Jemma says. “I know he’s…incredibly aggravating—” Uh, _rude_. “—but the things he’s done—”

“Kidnapping you!” Fitz nearly shouts. “He _kidnapped_ you! We’ve spent _years_ worrying—”

“And he _betrayed us_ ,” Skye interjects. “Coulson got _tortured_ —”

“—while John Garrett was in charge,” Coulson interrupts, effectively shocking Fitz and Skye into silence.

Well, mostly.

“Coulson?” Skye asks.

“I’m not thrilled about the situation, either,” he says. “Especially not the kidnapping part of it. But as little as we may like it, you have to admit, Centipede’s changed a lot under Ward’s…leadership.”

Grant doesn’t like that little pause there, but Jemma doesn’t seem to notice it. She’s smiling in relief.

“Precisely. I joined SHIELD because I wanted to help people,” she says. “To save lives. And as unpalatable as Grant’s methods may be, that’s just what Centipede is doing right now. Our crusade against Hydra has been wonderfully successful.”

“As opposed to ours,” Coulson says wryly. “I can’t blame you for working with Ward—”

“Especially since he wouldn’t let you _leave_ ,” Fitz rudely interrupts, aiming what he probably thinks is an intimidating scowl in Grant’s direction. Really, he just looks petulant.

“But now that we’re here,” Skye adds, “you don’t have to worry about that. You can finally come home! As…soon as it’s safe to,” she finishes, a little sheepishly.

Grant’s not about to let that happen, and he’s ready and willing to say so, escalation be damned. Before he can, though, Gary pipes up.

“Mom? What’s she talking about?”

Jemma looks like she’s been slapped.

“You’re not going anywhere, right?” he asks anxiously. “Right, Mom?”

Gary’s only called Jemma _Mom_ once before—last year, when he caught the flu and was laid up with a 103 degree fever. Even then, it wasn’t entirely clear whether he was reaching out to Jemma or just, in his delirium, somehow mistaking her for Catherine.

He sure as hell doesn’t have a fever now, but…a brief glance at his son’s too-worried face confirms his suspicions. Gary’s playing on her affection for him, using a bit of emotional blackmail in the form of verbally acknowledging the role she’s taken on since coming to live with them, to back her into a corner. She won’t have the heart to leave, not when Gary looks so upset at the prospect _and_ just called her ‘Mom.’

That’s his boy.

“Of course not, darling,” Jemma says, rallying. “I never intended to.”

“Simmons!” Fitz practically squeaks.

“Fitz.” Jemma takes his hands. “I love you—I love _all_ of you—but my goal has always been to use my knowledge and skills to the best of my ability, to do some good in the world. Right now, Centipede is the best place to do so.”

“But SHIELD…” Skye starts, pathetically, before trailing off.

“You don’t even have a base right now,” Jemma reminds her. “But even if you did—even if you were able to bring SHIELD back to its former glory—I wouldn’t go back with you.”

“But _why_?” Fitz asks. Whines, really. It might be endearing, if he weren’t still clinging to Grant’s girl.

“Because I’m happy here,” she says. “I’m helping people, I’m doing good work, and—” She hesitates, then visibly steels herself. “And I’m in love.”

Ortilla (who’s long since positioned himself between Grant and the team) lets out a little “Awwwwww.” He shrugs when Grant side-eyes him.

Coulson actually looks kinda touched, too, but then, he’s been the most reasonable all along. Fitz and Skye are back to silent, horrified gaping.

“So,” Jemma continues, a little awkwardly, “no. I won’t be going anywhere. I’m happy where I am.”

Fitz and Skye look at each other.

“Brainwashed,” Fitz says.

“Soooooooo brainwashed,” Skye agrees.

Jemma throws her hands up. “I am _not_ bloody brainwashed! Is it so hard to believe I might fall in love?”

“With _Ward_?” Fitz asks.

“Uh, _yeah_ ,” Skye says. “Super hard!”

Grant’s had about enough of silent observation.

“I’d just like to remind everyone that I’m right here,” he says dryly. “And also I just saved your asses. You’re welcome.”

Skye whirls on him. “Saved us and then _kidnapped us_ , you creep, which is basically _all you do_ —”

“Sorry, can I interrupt?”

All eyes turn to the new guy, who hasn’t said one word since they landed. Didn’t say much on the quinjet, either, for that matter.

“What, Hunter?” Skye asks impatiently.

He ignores her and slips past Fitz and Coulson to approach Jemma. “Hello, we haven’t met. Lance Hunter.”

“Uh, Jemma Simmons,” she says, shaking his hand with some understandable bemusement. “Nice to meet you.”

“Pleasure’s mine,” Hunter says. “Now, I’d just like to clarify a few quick points. Yes or no: you’re with Ward willingly, you’re safe with him, you intend to stay with him, and nothing anyone says is gonna change your mind.”

“Yes,” Jemma says. “To all of the above.”

“Right.” He nods and turns to the others. “That’s settled then.”

“S-settled!” Fitz sputters. “In no bloody way is it _settled_!”

“The opposite of settled!” Skye says over him. “Hunter—”

“No!” Hunter says sharply, pairing it with a quick cutting gesture. “No, no, no. The way I see it, there are two options. One, she’s brainwashed—”

“I am _not_ brainwashed,” Jemma says.

“—in which case shouting at her about what she’s been brainwashed to do is pointless,” he continues, ignoring her. “Yes?”

Fitz and Skye mutter something that might be agreement. Coulson’s “Yes” is much surer.

“Great,” Hunter says. “Glad we’re agreed. Option two, she’s _not_ brainwashed. In which case she’s just established that she’s in no danger here, and we therefore have _bigger problems_ , like the second bloody uprising and the fact that Trip and May are being held prisoner by those fake SHIELD berks!”

His friendly, conversational tone elevates to near shouting by the end of his little speech, and Fitz and Skye look away.

“Yes or no,” Hunter barks at them.

“Yes,” Skye says, grudgingly.

“Yeah,” Fitz agrees. “You’re right.”

“Thank you,” Hunter says, throwing his arms apart. “Now can we _please_ move on to making some sort of plan to rescue the people who are _actually in danger_?”

Grant’s starting to like this guy.

“Hunter’s right,” Coulson says. “I don’t want to hear another word about Simmons and Ward until Trip and May are safe.”

Fitz and Skye nod, shamefaced—but Skye makes a ‘watching-you’ kind of gesture at Grant as soon as Coulson looks away from her, and Fitz’s hand keeps twitching towards his empty holster. They might not talk about it further, but it’s obvious the matter is still far from settled in their minds.

That’s okay. Grant’s got plenty of taunting ready for them, and it’ll be more fun if they’re still pissed at him.

For the moment, Coulson turns to Grant.

“Ward,” he says, “we appreciate the rescue. If you really intend to help us against Gonzales—”

“I do,” Grant assures him.

“—then we’ll accept it gratefully.” Impressively, he doesn’t even look like saying it hurts him. “Any intel or resources you can offer will be appreciated.”

“Of course.” Grant spreads his hands. “Mi mansion es su mansion. Ortilla, show them to the briefing room—Hicks should have it set up for them by now.”

“Yes, sir,” Ortilla agrees. “This way, SHIELDlings.”

“Jemma and I will be along in a moment,” Grant adds, and Fitz and Skye stop—

—only to be shoved along by Hunter. “ _Focus_ , children. She’s spent the last two years alone with him, five minutes isn’t any worse.”

Yeah, Grant likes this guy.

“We’ll be right there,” Jemma promises them.

The airfield is a reasonable distance from the mansion, and sound carries pretty well across the lawn. Jemma waits until the last of Fitz and Skye’s grumbling (and the cheerful, casual conversation Coulson is making with Ortilla—is he asking about _dental_?) fades out before turning to face Gary.

“‘Mom’?” she asks, folding her arms.

Gary puts on an uncertain face. “That’s okay, right?”

“Of course it is,” she says at once. “As long as you say it from genuine sentiment and not as a means of manipulation.”

“Manipulation?” Gary asks, slapping a hand over his chest in exaggerated shock. “ _Me_? I’d _never_!”

“No,” she says skeptically. “You’re not your father’s son at all.”

He drops the innocent act and grins. “It worked though, right?”

“Yes, it worked,” she says, rolling her eyes. “You little terror.”

Gary hops off the crates and darts across the field to hug her. Jemma sighs as she hugs him back, but her face is full of wry affection. Manipulation or not, she loves his kid. (It’s one of the most attractive things about her.)

While she’s not looking at him, Grant shoots Gary a thumbs up. His son grins back.

“I wouldn’t mind if you were my mom,” he adds, innocently. “You know. Just for the record.”

“Thank you, Gary,” Jemma says, smiling a little helplessly. “That does mean a lot to me.” She smooths a bit of his hair (which is a mess; he must’ve been climbing trees again) out of his face. It’s such a mom move that it kind of puts a lump in Grant’s throat. “But as your almost-mum, I’d like to point out—”

Gary’s eyes widen, and he takes three skipping steps back, out of Jemma’s reach.

“Okay, gotta go, bye!” he shouts, even as he pelts across the lawn. Markham sighs and jogs off after him, sparing an absent salute for Grant as he goes.

(Good man, Markham. He’ll make sure not to let Gary out of his sight as long as SHIELD is on the premises.)

“—that you’re meant to be in your maths lesson right now!” Jemma calls after them, still with her helpless smile. It doesn’t fade as she (finally) turns to Grant. “We really must do something about him.”

“Eh.” Grant shrugs. “He’s ten, Jem. A few skipped lessons aren’t gonna kill him.”

“Bad behavior is habit-forming,” she says, frowning, “and while his lessons may seem simple to you, they’re foundational concepts that—”

Grant sighs. Jemma’s adorable when she lectures, but this is gonna be a long day. He doesn’t really have time to indulge.

“Okay, okay,” he interrupts. “I get the picture. I’ll talk with him…and maybe lay down the law with his teachers.”

Jemma nods, satisfied, and he just has to kiss her. He’s gotta. She loves his kid, she defends him to their old team, she doesn’t plan on leaving—hell, he’d like to do a lot more than kiss her, but he admits the SHIELD thing is kind of pressing.

(They may technically be on different sides these days, but that doesn’t mean he’s stopped caring about Trip and May. He’s not about to leave them to whatever Gonzales and his people have planned.)

She kisses him back, but only briefly before shoving him away.

“Now,” she says, “what did you say to upset them so terribly?”

“Me?” He puts on an injured look. “Why do you assume I said _anything_? They obviously hate me—”

“—And you obviously provoked them on the way here,” she says flatly. “In some way relating to our relationship, I presume, as a question about it was the first thing out of Skye’s mouth.”

He could continue to deny it, but what’s the point? Someone’ll tell her eventually, and then she’ll just be annoyed. Better to be up front about it.

“Well, okay,” he says. “I _might_ have said something.”

Her eyes narrow. “Something like…?”

“Something like asking Coulson’s blessing,” he admits, and grins as her face goes slack in shock. “Consider this your advanced notice, sweetheart: someday soon, I’m asking you to marry me.”

Jemma just stares.

“Think about it,” he advises and, after another swift kiss, sets off for the mansion.

Not the most romantic of proposals, admittedly—but then, it wasn’t really a proposal. Just some advanced notice so she can get used to the idea: so when he actually _does_ propose (here on the lawn, he thinks, near all the flowers, under the full moon maybe—she’ll love that), she’ll have already worked through all her doubts and reservations and can just accept without overthinking it.

“And who says I’d have you?” she calls after him.

That’s his Jemma: always has to have the last word. Kind of a problem, actually, since he’s the same way.

“You already do, sweetheart,” he says over his shoulder. “Unless you’re saying you wanna end things, in which case Gary’s science tutor—”

It’s not a surprise when she chases after him before he can finish. It’s even less of a surprise that it’s a good twenty minutes before they finally join the others in the briefing room. Also not surprising: the impotent glares he gets from Fitz and Skye. Unsurprising and _hilarious_.

SHIELD uprisings aside? Life is good.


End file.
